


Something Real

by cullenlovesmen



Series: Bi!Cullen fics [18]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bad Flirting, Depression, Don’t copy to another site, First Meetings, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 13:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/pseuds/cullenlovesmen
Summary: The docks were silent, but never empty. There was always something happening here, and on a night like this, it was bound to be something that couldn't withstand a second glance. But Cullen wasn't here to watch. No, tonight the docks were merely far enough from the ghosts haunting the Gallows — and his solitary bunk. There was certain honesty to Kirkwall and its shady streets; they never pretended to be better than they were, never sought to justify their existence. What you saw was what you got. The same could not be said of the island of spectres, so on sleepless nights he dressed like a commoner and wandered the city in search for… something. Something real. Something solid. An honest mugging. A sincere insult. Anything, really.





	Something Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurlana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurlana/gifts).

> Welp, first try at writing Cullistair. Written for Aurlana due to her strong suggestion I ought to christen the new [AO3feed-cullistair blog](https://ao3feed-cullistair.tumblr.com), so here goes nothing!

The Gallows lay like a dormant beast behind the mist reaching inland from the sea. The early rays of sun would banish the cool tendrils with their force, but not yet. The night was long and the shadows dense — so dense they nearly swallowed the gaping hole where Cullen's heart should have been. 

The docks were silent, but never empty. There was always something happening here, and on a night like this, it was bound to be something that couldn't withstand a second glance. But Cullen wasn't here to watch. No, tonight the docks were merely far enough from the ghosts haunting the Gallows — and his solitary bunk. 

There was certain honesty to Kirkwall and its shady streets; they never pretended to be better than they were, never sought to justify their existence. What you saw was what you got. The same could not be said of the island of spectres, so on sleepless nights he dressed like a commoner and wandered the city in search for… something. Something real. Something solid. An honest mugging. A sincere insult. Anything, really. 

He crossed his arms on his chest to fend off the chill and shifted on the stairs leading to the water. One of the moons was out - Satina, judging by its size - and at half a quarter; the other one was dark, invisible to the eye. The pale glow was weak on the surface of the sea; ribbons of light went in and out of existence as the water wallowed in leisurely rolls. 

Cullen’s silence was disturbed by the sound of approaching footfalls. The clinking of armour — not your average thief, then. Heavy, unapologetic steps — so not a mercenary either. There were unwritten rules to navigating the docks at night: keep to yourself and you shan’t be bothered; don't ask questions and your presence won't be questioned. His fingers sought the hilt of the dagger concealed under his belt.

Behind him stood a tall man — a Warden, by the looks of his armour, and Cullen let go of his weapon by instinct. "May I help you, Warden?" 

The man's neutral expression relaxed into a smile, a short chuckle escaping from his lips. He was handsome by anyone's standards; well-built from head to toes, athletic, and pretty when he smiled. The moonlight caught in his eyes - of indeterminate colour in the night - and a rogue thought rushed through Cullen's head: he really wouldn't mind discovering exactly which hue they were. 

"Just when I thought the Marchers can't talk!" The man shifted, schooling his face back to something like indifference. "That is, you're the first person to offer help." 

"I am Fereldan." 

Stupid. Why was he always compelled to correct the slightest error he encountered, and yet be helpless to fix the issues right under his nose?

The man quirked a brow, lip curling upward. "Oh… That explains the whole rugged charm thing you got going." He cleared his throat and produced a scroll from underneath his armour, handing it over to Cullen. "Have you seen this man?" 

Ears burning, Cullen turned around - as much to hide his confusion as to inspect the drawing in better light. An inexplicable temptation to lie crossed his mind, but he shook his head and gave the scroll back. 

The man's fingers brushed his. 

Solid. Real. 

"I, uhh, I can't say I have." 

Something like disappointment flashed on the stranger's face, but he put the item back underneath his breastplate, a bulge of his stomach muscles showing from beneath the fabric for a tantalising second before the tabard settled back into place. "That’s a pity."

Cullen nodded, hard-pressed to find anything intelligent to say. What was wrong with him? He wasn't in the habit of flushing like a maiden, nor did his heart usually race at the sight of lean muscles straining behind dirty clothes. He certainly never flustered at flirtatious words; he'd heard them all in the Gallows from people driven to desperation. There was never any real desire there — not for anything other than survival and protection. 

This was different. 

As if sensing his line of thought, the stranger spoke again: "Well. If you remember seeing him, or want to… see me for other reasons, just come to the Hanged Man. I have a room there for two more weeks."

The words hung with meaning, the man's lip still curling upward. 

"Ask for Alistair."

Without meaning to, Cullen smiled back, the hole in his chest forgotten for a moment. There was something sincere about this man, something honest in this invitation. It wasn't draped in finery and pretty lies; there was no pretence it was anything other than an offer of mutual comfort. 

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was what he had been searching for. Not looking to justify himself for once, Cullen nodded, certain he would venture to Lowtown the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments (of all shapes and sizes) and kudos always welcome; they make my day. <3


End file.
